Lavender
by Psychedelica
Summary: He was three when she left, and he can't remember much except for her smell. Some skeletons are best left buried. Warning: child & domestic abuse.
1. I

**To save precious reading time, this disclaimer applies to all chapters hereon:**

**To cover all tenses, I do not own the Mentalist, I have never owned the Mentalist, and I doubt I ever will own the Mentalist. Bruno Heller is adamant that the Mentalist and all its characters and events belong to him, no matter what clever trickery I use to find some sort of loophole. So: Sorry, things aren't looking too hopeful. So far I only own this storyline and any characters and events you haven't seen on the TV. Shame, huh?**

**Hope you enjoy, and remember: a review a day keeps the doctor away!**

_Mommy, by Psychedelica_

_**Chapter One**_

_**Mommy Smelt of Lavender**_

_I was three years old when my mother left, and even though my memory and factual recall is above average, I cannot remember a single thing about her._

_She was allergic to shellfish. That's one thing Dad told me about her. I also know she smelt of lavender, because I had one of her old cardigans that I kept under my bed and would take out and sniff in times of distress. It lost most of its smell by the time I was six, and when I threw up on it when I was seven my dad finally threw it out. To this day, I haven't forgiven him for that. But no, I don't actually remember her smell. For all I know, she never smelt of lavender at all._

_I think what hurts the most is that Dad didn't have any photos of her. He never gave a good reason, though. On different occasions he said that she hated having her picture taken, that they couldn't afford a camera (they were both hardcore carnies), and that the pictures had all been burnt when our caravan caught fire when I was three. I don't know when exactly it burnt down, and I can't really remember it, but Dad said it was a little after my mother ran out on us._

_So I grew up without my mother. Her face slowly faded from my memory as I got older, to be replaced with nothing but gray fuzz when I thought of her. I thought it was strange that the kids at school had two parents, when it had always been just me and my dad._

_It was as if she were dead, though I didn't mourn her. Sure, there were times when I closed my eyes and prayed to God that I could have a mom, and there were times when Dad couldn't make it to my school plays so I'd have no-one in the audience, but overall I didn't really miss her, simply because I never really knew her._

_And besides, at the end of the day, what could I do about it?_


	2. II

**I hope you're enjoying this so far, and reviews would really make my day . . .**

_Mommy, by Psychedelica_

_**Chapter Two**_

_**The Boring Case and the Not-So-Boring Event**_

"Jane, wake up!"

Ah, Lisbon. The highlight of his day, when she came in, guns ablazing, waking him from his slumber.

He moaned in irritation and she nudged his shoulder a little too hard for comfort.

"Come on, Jane! Do you want this case or not?"

"What case?" he mumbled.

"Chop shop case. Sac PD just busted it a few minutes ago. Do you want to go to the crime scene or not? Because I'd be perfectly happy to leave you here sleeping while I have all the fun . . ."

"All right, I'm coming," Jane grumbled, yawning as he stretched out.

When they got there, Jane was disappointed he'd come along at all. "Is this it?" he asked incredulously. Most of the chop shop members had already been arrested and taken away, with a couple of witnesses being questioned by the cops.

"Yes Jane, this is it," replied Lisbon. "Care to look around, see if you can get us any clues?"

"What clues?" he protested. "The cops have solved the case, you said so yourself. All the criminals have been arrested and the cars are being returned to their owners. Why do I need to look around exactly?"

"Because all the criminals _haven't_ been arrested. We've only got three people, and this is a five-man-or-more-operation."

"So you want me to find the others?" he guessed, pointing at her as he spoke. He sighed. "Oh Lisbon, where have all the good cases gone?"

She tutted and went to talk to some Sac PD officers. Jane began to wander around in boredom, not really looking at the scene but taking it all in anyhow.

After about half an hour he left the warehouse, but was cut off by Lisbon and Cho, who were discussing the case near the entrance.

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded Lisbon.

Jane shrugged. "Well, I was thinking of driving down to that nice little café by the seafront. You know, that one that sells those lovely Danishes? Mm, yes, I was thinking of going there and maybe finding a cozy little corner booth to drink some tea and listen to the sounds of the sea."

She rolled her eyes. "You're supposed to be helping with this case, Jane, not heading off to drink tea and listen to the ocean. I don't suppose you've found any clues, have you?"

"Clues?" he echoed. "No, no clues."

"So you just spent thirty minutes in there for . . . what? Daydreaming?"

"No, I solved your case." And with that, he headed towards his car.

"Hey!" Lisbon called after him. "Hey, Jane!" She and Cho ran after him. "What do you mean, you've solved our case?"

"You asked me to find the other criminals, I found the other criminals."

"Where are they?"

He glanced around. "Two of them are still in the building; I'm sure Sac PD will stumble across them any minute. One of them is hiding out at his girlfriend's, but he'll be back in a day or two to pick up his things. And the other one is probably halfway to Mexico by now, driving some sort of Mustang. Not sure which one. You might be able to pick him up at the state line."

Jane hopped into his car and started the engine, just as a series of yells sounded from the chop shop warehouse, followed by a set of gunshots.

"Oh, hell," muttered Lisbon, shaking her head and drawing her gun. Cho did the same and they both darted back to the warehouse.

Jane rolled down his window. "Bye, guys!" he yelled.

Unfortunately for his impressive exit, he only got a few meters before the car stalled. He turned the key a few times but the engine just spluttered and failed. He knew he should have filled up the tank on his way here, but he'd been anxious of what Lisbon would do to him if he was late.

Just that little bit peeved, he smacked his palms on the steering wheel and got out of the car again.

"Lis-_bon!"_ he yelled, though he knew she was inside the warehouse and therefore couldn't hear him. "Can I hitch a ride?"

Maybe an hour later, he and Lisbon were heading back to CBI HQ. She was driving, something he was less than happy about, but she hadn't let him behind the wheel since that day when he'd taken her out in that flash car.

Jane began to whistle to break the silence, a familiar tune he couldn't remember where he'd picked up. He'd most likely heard it on the radio a while back.

They were almost at the CBI (and Lisbon had ordered, begged and subsequently threatened Jane to stop whistling the annoying tune) when a car zoomed past the crossroads they were paused at. Without a moment's hesitation, Lisbon spun the tires and chased after it.

The chase went on for a while, the car in front refusing to pull over even with Lisbon's flashing lights, but eventually the speedy driver misjudged a turn and ended up doing a one-eighty, the wheels screeching with the effort.

Lisbon leapt out of her seat, gun out. "CBI! Get out of the car with your hands up!"

She was pretty scary when she went into cop-mode, so Jane hopped out of _their_ car, just in case. Not that he'd ever admit that he, Patrick Jane, found Teresa Lisbon scary.

The driver emerged from the red sports car, a terrified expression on his face. Lisbon grabbed his arms and forced him onto the bonnet, snapping handcuffs on him.

"You must have been doing at least three times the speed limit, kid," she growled. "You're coming with us."

Back at the CBI, Jane had almost gotten back to sleep when Lisbon woke him up. _Again._ He hoped that it was something important, for her sake, else he'd make the next case they were on together hell.

"The kid we brought in, name's Zachary Coolidge, aged twenty-four. He served six months a couple of years back for minor charges, and has been in trouble ever since. Speeding, mainly, but also stealing and joyriding. The car we found him in was reported stolen two days ago."

"Good thing Big Bad Teresa Lisbon came along and arrested him, huh?"

He grinned at her and stood up, ready to get some tea. Just as he took a step forward, a woman appeared in front of him. He halted millimeters away from her, having just prevented himself from walking into her.

"Ma'am, can I help you?" asked Lisbon.

The woman ignored her, her eyes on Jane. "Are you Patrick Jane?"

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

Ignoring Lisbon, she repeated her question. "Are you Patrick Jane?"

"Yes, and who are you exactly?"

The woman didn't answer, enveloping him in one of the biggest and tightest hugs he'd been enveloped in for a long time. He shot Lisbon a pleading expression, but she just looked ready to burst with laughter. When the woman released him, when she _finally_ released him, he enquired, "And who are you?"

She looked at him for one very long moment, her expression . . . sad? For once, Jane wasn't sure what she was thinking. "Don't you recognize me?" When he shook her head, she sighed, her face falling a bit and making her look ten years older. "My name's Scarlett. I'm your mother, Patrick."

For a moment Jane could say nothing. Not that he didn't _want _to say anything – no, he had hundreds upon thousands of things he wanted to say – but his mouth simply wouldn't move, apart from dropping open an inch or two.

Instead of digesting this piece of information thoroughly, Jane turned to Lisbon, hoping she'd either have some sort of answer, or at least she'd admit that this was all some stupid joke. But no, she looked as surprised and baffled as he did.

Irritably (though it made sense), Lisbon seemed to come to terms with this piece of news quicker than him. Her confused expression made way for a wide smile, her eyes dancing with what could be interpreted as happiness, or _teasing._

Jane broke his gaze with Lisbon, annoyed at her lack of sympathy for the situation he was in (how could she know about his situation?). So instead of looking at her, he looked at Scarlett. _His mother._

She was the right age, he'd give her that. She'd been younger than his dad – a considerable amount younger – though she must have aged quite a bit in nearly forty years. She'd gone from the twenty-something-year-old woman he couldn't quite remember; to a sixty-something-year-old woman he _definitely_ didn't remember.

But she was still pretty, if he sort of tilted his head and squinted a bit. Beneath that heavily plastered make-up and those badly disguised wrinkles, Jane could see a hint of the beautiful woman his father had fallen in love with. Her hair was mostly gray, but he could see a few strands of dark blonde. He'd always wondered where he got the color from, since the curliness came from his dad's side of the family.

_Jesus Christ, this is my mom._

Lisbon touched his arm, breaking him out of his delirium. "Jane, why don't you take the rest of the day off? Maybe take your mom to that nice Italian place down on Forty-Third Street?"

Scarlett _(should I be calling her 'Mom'?)_ beamed widely, the foundation cracking slightly around her mouth. Jane didn't think the make-up suited her at all.

"Sure," Jane replied, without realizing his mouth was talking. "I could do with a good meal; I skipped breakfast. Thanks, Lisbon."

She nodded, and as Scarlett turned to go, Jane leant in to inconspicuously sniff her. Unsure whether Lisbon had seen or not, he followed after his mother, feeling his chest sink somewhat.

She didn't smell like lavender, at least not anymore.

Jane wondered whether she had ever even smelt like lavender in the first place.


	3. III

**Duh-duh-dun! If this was a movie, dramatic music would be playing right now! Sorry about some of the stiff dialogue, but writing between Jane and his mum is tricky . . . Still, I hope you're liking reading it! It's my first non-oneshot Mentalist so far! R&R's would be muchly appreciated, thank you!**

_Mommy, by Psychedelica_

_**Chapter Three**_

_**Crab Cakes and Rosé Wine**_

In the restaurant, Jane sat awkwardly across the table from his mother. She ordered crab cakes and rosé wine; he ordered nothing. There was no way he was eating after this bit of news.

They made small talk throughout the meal. Eventually Scarlett convinced Jane to order some tea and a small salad, claiming to be worried about his health and wellbeing. He quietly went along, not sure if he had the strength to disagree.

"Why did you leave?" he asked suddenly, just after the waiter had handed him the bill. "All those years ago, why did you leave us?"

Scarlett paused, looking obviously pained. "You think it's my fault?" she whispered.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one that left."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "You think it was me that tore our family apart? No, Patrick, it wasn't. Your father and I . . . had our differences. He wanted one thing, I wanted another. We'd been drifting apart for months before I finally put my foot down. My sister had a house in Vermont; she had a couple of extra rooms. How old were you? You must have been seven, eight . . ."

"Three. I was three."

A brief look of surprise passed over her features, quickly replaced with a smile. "Ah, yes. I remember. But we gave you a choice, your father and I. We let you choose who to be with, and you decided to stay with your dad."

Jane dropped his eyes. Had he really decided to stay with his father? He seemed to remember loving his mom tons more than his dad. And besides, it didn't sound like his dad, giving him a _choice_. No doubt he had manipulated his three-year-old son into doing what _he _wanted, instead of what his son wanted.

_Why can't I remember any of this?_

Jane paid the bill and absently slipped the receipt into his jacket pocket.

He and Scarlett made some more small talk on their way to the hotel where she was staying. She said she had been living in Paris when she'd stumbled across his name online, saying that her son had solved dozens of crimes and murders. For some reason small talk was okay with him, because he could treat her like any other human being and not his _mother._

It was about half four by the time he arrived back at the CBI. Lisbon noticed him wandering about and beckoned him into her office, where she was churning out paperwork.

"Jane, I gave you the day off," she reminded him. "That means the _whole _day, not just part of it." But her expression was light, her face open and happy. "How did it go?"

He swallowed and looked at her, and then closed her office door. He took a seat on the chair the opposite side of the desk to her, instead of his usual couch. "It was . . . _strange_."

"Strange?" she echoed, nose crinkling a little. "Strange how?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It just . . . _was_."

Lisbon put the lid on her pen and leant back in her chair with a smile. "You don't talk about your mom much. At all, really. You really didn't recognize her, did you? Were your parents divorced?"

Jane sighed. "Not . . . really. They were separated, but they never got married in the first place." He leant his arms against her desk, unconsciously fingering the receipt from the restaurant. "She left us, me and my dad. When I was three. I don't . . . I don't _remember_ her.

"I always thought she just packed up and left one day, and my dad always said she did. But she says . . . she says it was a mutual thing. They'd been . . . arguing, she said. I don't know; I don't remember. She says they had their differences, and that she left because she had to. But the thing is, she says they gave me a _choice. _They let me _choose _which parent to stay with. I chose my dad, and my mom left."

Lisbon was silent for a moment. "God, Jane, I'm sorry. But it's a good thing your mom's back, isn't it?"

"I guess so," he admitted reluctantly. "I've always wanted to get to know her."

"Precisely," Lisbon smiled. "So what's stressing you so much?"

He glanced down at the receipt in his hands and realized he was fiddling with it. With a frown, he slipped it back into his pocket and sighed. "I don't know. I think it's because . . . because . . ."

_Because even at three years old, there's no way I'd pick Dad over Mom._

He left the sentence unspoken and shook his head to shake away the words. "Never mind," he muttered, and left her office.

That night, Jane had a bad dream, a dream that was unlike any of the nightmares he usually had. They involved his wife and his daughter, and that horrible day when he'd come in and found them there, lying in their own slightly congealed blood . . .

But this dream wasn't the usual. He wouldn't go as far as saying it was worse, but he woke up drenched in sweat and hyperventilating.

Once he had got his breathing in check, he rolled over to check the time. Not quite two a.m., but there was no way he was getting back to sleep after _that _dream.

_After what dream?_ he asked himself. He couldn't for the life of him recall what he had been dreaming about.

After power-showering and dressing, Jane got in his car (which he'd gotten towed from the warehouse the day before) and drove to the CBI office, where he found Lisbon asleep in her chair, head on her desk amongst the paperwork.

Jane smiled to himself, the first genuine one he'd smiled for what seemed like forever. He slipped one arm around her back and the other under her knees, lifting her up honeymoon-style and marveling at how light she was. _She is a pixie after all, _he mused, placing her gently on the couch.

Brushing a strand of hair out of her face and feeling grateful she wasn't awake to glare at him, Jane removed his jacket and draped it over her. She smiled and mumbled something unintelligible, and he grinned. He would tease her like hell in the morning.

Wishing the morning was here already, Jane headed up to his attic (the possessive pronoun slipped off his tongue so easily) and wrote in his diary until the sun rose.

The minute Wednesday rolled around, he dumped his diary on the arm of his chair and ran downstairs to question Zachary Coolidge, the kid they'd picked up for speeding and stealing the day before. Anything to keep his mind off this whole mom crisis.

He interrogated Coolidge for a while, trying various techniques of persuasion, threats, confusion, hypnotism, friendliness, and trying to impress him, but by the end of the questioning, Jane had nothing. Zero. Zilch. _Nada._

Slightly less calm then usual, Jane stormed out of the interrogation room and almost ran into Lisbon, who thrust his jacket at him with a half-angry, half-embarrassed glare. He grinned widely at her and expressed his thanks, earning him a double-glare.

Jane took the lift down to the ground floor, wondering whether he'd left his chop shop case file in his car, only to bump into Scarlett again.

She was in the entrance area, complaining loudly to the security guards because they wouldn't let her past that point. She spotted Jane and waved, and he tried his hardest not to flinch.

_Moms were put on this earth to embarrass their kids, _he reminded himself, and was unsure whether this thought made him happy, sad, angry, or even more confused than he'd been up until this point.

All the same, he took the guards aside and told them to let Scarlett in, even when he wasn't there. They looked doubtful but he managed to persuade them, putting on his charmer face.

Trying to act like less of a jerk than yesterday, Jane even let his mom take his arm as he led her upstairs for a cup of tea in the break room.

They chatted for even longer than the day before, partly due to the lack of stress from their first meeting. Lisbon came in for coffee at one point but quickly backed away when she saw that Jane and Scarlett were actually getting along.

In the end, Scarlett checked her watched and sighed. "I'm sorry, Patrick. I'm having a wonderful time – I really am – but I've got an important meeting in half an hour. I'm afraid I have to leave." She smiled sadly and touched his arm, just above his wrist. He glanced down at the hand, uncomfortable with her touch but also oddly content.

Taking this as a good sign, Scarlett pecked him on the cheek before leaving. Jane felt shocked, his hand over the spot she'd kissed. A new feeling spread throughout his insides. Love? No, he'd felt love before. Happiness? Again, he'd been happy before, even if he hadn't recently. Comfort? Maybe. The comfort that could only come from a motherly presence, a feeling he probably hadn't experienced since he was three years old, a feeling he probably wouldn't remember if he had experienced it before.

Interrupting his thoughts, Grace came into the break room and began pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Who was that?" she asked curiously. "We've got a bet going on in the office. My money's on a really old girlfriend."

"She's not old," he snapped defensively, and hid his shock at his own retort. "And she's _not_ my girlfriend. She's my mom."

Grace looked mildly surprised, but had no time to say anything more because Jane had already left, also feeling mildly surprised.


	4. IV

**Oh, I love writing nightmare scenes, and look! Here comes one now! But if there's one thing I love more than nightmare scenes, it's reviews . . . Not that I'm implying anything . . . ;) Hope you're having fun, and thanks so much to all those lovely people who have reviewed and/or added this to their Favourites/Alerts lists! It's people like you that make the world go round (God, that was sickly!). Thank goodness, my computer has forgiven me for whatever it was I did, and is now allowing me to respond to any reviews! (hint hint!)**

**Have fun, guys! This chapter's a good 'un!  
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_Mommy, by Psychedelica_

_**Chapter Four**_

_**I'm Not Scared of the Dark**_

That afternoon was beautifully sunny and a perfect temperature, and Jane found himself beginning to drift off on the bullpen couch as Rigsby and Cho discussed the new evidence that had come in on the chop shop case.

Without even realizing he'd fallen asleep, Jane found himself in a very dark and very small space. It took him a while to realize that he'd crossed from reality to the dream world, but it didn't make him any more relieved. He was overwhelmed with a sense of claustrophobia and a terror at the darkness, though he hadn't feared small spaces and the dark since he was a kid.

_That's because I am a kid now._

And he was. He was a child again, living the memories that had been fading from his mind over the last few years.

He remembered being scared of the dark until he was about sixteen or seventeen, after he ran away with Angela. She helped him overcome his fears. But the claustrophobia, that had taken longer. He'd still been claustrophobic after Charlotte had been born. In fact, it had been his time in the psychiatric facility after they died that had rid him of his terror. Phobias tend to get cured when you're around psychiatrists, after all.

But no, not in this dream. In this dream Jane was a child. That little boy he used to be, huddled up each night in his blanket, staring into the darkness and praying that nothing leapt out of him.

He was in complete darkness, in a space so small he could feel each wall pressing in on him. But it wasn't oblivion, wasn't the worst possible place his mind could invent. It was a real place. He remembered it clear as day.

In his dream, he yelled out. His voice was unlike his usual. Like everything else, it had reverted to his childhood.

As the familiar feelings of terror crept over him, Jane pounded on the roof of the 'room' he was in, until it gave way and he leapt out.

He was . . . somewhere. Somewhere familiar. He could place where he'd been before, but couldn't put a name to where he was at the moment.

_Home?_

Wherever he was, be it home or elsewhere, he wasn't comfortable. At all.

It couldn't be home, could it? He felt too ill at ease for it to be his home. And if it was, it made no sense that the only thing he was thinking was, _I want to go home!_

He began to walk, walk somewhere. But where? Not sure. But he was walking. He felt small, so small. He passed the kitchen sink but wasn't even tall enough to see the basin. Two, three years old, maybe? However old he was, he knew that when he heard that bloodcurdling scream, he mustn't come any closer.

Unable to breathe, his younger self paced back to where he'd come from, back to the Box.

The Box? Where had that come from? And why did it hold such powerful, emotional memories? Jane wondered what the Box was, and why it was so important, and then remembered.

But there was no time to think. He wasn't by the Box anymore. He had heard another scream, another terrified scream, and had rushed in that direction. Now he was there, there and seeing it, seeing it all. It was happening, it was happening again. The badness and the sadness and his little childish mind wanted him to cry.

In desperation to get away from this horrible dream, Jane forced himself awake. He jolted up on the couch and choked back a primal scream.

"Jane, you okay?" It was Lisbon, and she sounded concerned. _Really _concerned. Jane wondered whether he'd cried out.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, brushing her off like he always did.

That night, he couldn't face sleeping in his cold, uninviting hotel room. In actuality, he wasn't sure he could face sleeping at all after the two dreams of the last twenty-four hours.

But nightmares take their toll, their toll of exhaustion, and pretty soon he found himself falling asleep in the attic of the CBI.

Again, Jane dreamt. Not of the Box (whatever it may be – he only partially remembered), nor of that house that he may or may not call home, nor of his wife and child and Red John, but the dream that he had forgotten the day before.

Except today he didn't forget it.

Lisbon settled down in bed wondering about the chop shop case. Jane had predicted that one of them was fleeing, and hate as she might to admit it, he was usually right about that sort of things. Trouble was, they hadn't found the last criminal yet.

Just as she had drifted off to sleep thinking of Jane's hunch, she was awakened by the ringing of her cell, the caller ID showing Jane's name.

Grumbling to someone who wasn't there, she fumbled to answer the cell, only for it to ring off. She stared at it for a minute or two before deciding he had misdialed and rolling back into bed.

Unable to get back to sleep after about quarter of an hour, she dragged herself out of bed, complaining to thin air that it was half one and she had work tomorrow. She went downstairs to pour herself a glass of milk and maybe grab a cookie or two.

A short while later, she awoke to the distant sound of her cell ringing. She was in her living room armchair, half-drunk glass of milk on the coffee table. With a sigh, Lisbon sprinted upstairs and grabbed her cell, answering before it rang off again.

"Jane?" She knew it was him again from the caller ID.

There was a long silence apart from his breathing. It was heavier than usual, as if he were running . . . or panicking.

"Jane, you okay?" she asked, suddenly wide awake.

"Sorry Lisbon," he muttered, and then hung up.

She stared at the phone for a while, wondering whether the last half hour had really happened, or whether she was still tucked up in her warm bed.

She had just gotten into bed again when the cell rang for a third time. Stretching out to answer it before he had a chance to change his mind about calling her, it was no good. She was too slow. He rang off halfway through the second ring.

"God, Jane," she mumbled as she got out of bed and pulled some clothes on. "What have you done this time?"

Lisbon rushed to CBI HQ, the most likely place she'd find him. If he wasn't there, she had a vague idea about which hotel he was staying in. And if he wasn't there . . .

She shook her head, decided to get the here and now over and done with before she thought too far into the future.

Luckily, her first guess was right. He was in the CBI, in his attic, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. She called his name, gently. Didn't want to startle him. He didn't respond.

"Jane, are you okay? Has something happened?"

He glanced up, and Lisbon was shocked at how haggard and worn-down his face looked.

Jane had been thinking. Three times he'd called Lisbon. He hadn't expected her to actually come into work. Wasn't sure whether he _wanted _her there or not.

She asked him whether something had happened. He wanted to tell her yes, lots of things had happened. In all these years he'd been on this planet, hundreds of things had happened, and about half of them he'd blotted out.

His mother. He'd blotted her out. He could pretend that he couldn't remember her because he'd been so young, so very young when she'd left. He could pretend that Scarlett would make his world so much better. He could pretend that . . .

He had the receipt for the Italian restaurant in his hand. He'd been fingering it since he woke up, and the ink was all but rubbed off. But two words remained, stuck in his memory much more vividly than they were on the paper.

_Crab cakes._

"Tell me about Mom," he remembered begging his dad. "Everybody at school talks about their moms, but I don't know anything about mine!"

His father had grinned wolfishly, almost teasingly. He hadn't realized at the time quite how scary his father could be. "I'm busy, Paddy."

"You're _always _busy!" he'd complained. He must have been eight, maybe nine. "Please, Dad! Just one little thing about her!"

His father had laughed – a loud, booming noise. He had only been slightly afraid back then, but when the older Jane looked back on it, he was terrified. "Just one little thing? Okay . . . uh . . . she was allergic to shellfish. Wouldn't touch the stuff. She had this allergic reaction when she was just a girl, younger than you are. Spent over a week in hospital."

At the time he had savored this piece of information about his mother, but for some reason he hadn't made the link.

Shellfish.

Crab cakes.

_She didn't smell like lavender, at least not anymore._

"That woman, whoever she is . . ." He paused to calm his breath, tried to stop himself for hyperventilating. "She isn't my mom."

Lisbon looked confused. "How do you know? She left when you were three. She would have changed a bit in all those years."

He shook his head, swaying as he did so. Jane swallowed. "My mother didn't leave when I was three."

He saw her eyebrows knit together and heard her asking questions, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of questions. Or maybe just a few. But he didn't hear. Didn't hear anything. He was thinking instead.

Eventually he heard, "Jane? Jane!" and snapped out of his daze. He glanced up as she asked, "How do you know? Did you remember?"

He looked her directly in the eyes for what seemed to be an eternity and a half, and then answered oh-so-quietly, "Because my mom's dead. And I think . . . I think I might have witnessed her murder."


	5. V

**Here it is - the grand finale! I'm sure going to miss writing this one - I was having a great time! I hope you're all enjoying this. I write to please, after all!**

**N.B. - I would be _incredibly_ grateful if you R&R! A big thank you to all those lovely people who have reviewed already, or added this to their Favourites or Story Alert lists. I love you all! xD**

_Mommy, by Psychedelica_

_**Chapter Five**_

_**More Exciting Than a Drain Blockage**_

Thursday mornings were usually quiet in the CBI office. The most exciting thing that had ever happened on a Thursday morning was that time when the drain in the break room sink had gotten clogged and the office had stunk for days.

Rigsby put down the desk phone and announced, "Coolidge is being moved to court today."

"No doubt he'll get a year, tops," commented Cho.

Rigsby shook his head. "Shame. Once he gets out he's only going to do the whole thing again. And again. And again."

Grace smiled slightly, and Rigsby returned it gratefully.

Jane heard the clack of high heels and sat up on his couch. As he did so, Scarlett appeared in the bullpen in front of him, a look of concern on her face.

"You sounded worried on the phone. Is anything the matter, Patrick?"

"No, nothing. Guess I'm just a bit stressed about the latest case." He shook his head as if to clear if. "Never mind, it's nothing to do with us."

At that moment, Grace called out to Lisbon, "Boss, we've got some new info on the chop shop case. Sac PD's found matches to the DNA found at the crime scene. Hopefully it'll help us catch the last member. I put the case file on your desk."

Jane noticed how Scarlett (it sounded silly to call her Mom now) was listening intently, and he smiled slightly. "Come on, there's something I'd like you to see."

He led her to the screen of the interrogation room, where they watched Zachary Coolidge being led away by some men in tan uniforms. Jane began to fill her in on the details of the case, but she interrupted him midstream. "What am I doing here, Patrick? Is this the reason you called me?"

Jane bowed his head, observing the impatient twitch beside her mouth. He brushed off the question by saying he thought she might like to see a real life case being solved. She met his eye, but for once, neither of them was smiling.

Breaking the gaze, Scarlett excused herself by asking to go to the ladies' room.

After she was out of Patrick's line of vision, Scarlett sped up. She had been memorizing these corridors by the floor plans her friend Billy had given her. She knew _exactly _where it was she was going, and exactly how to avoid everyone else on her way there.

Scarlett set a determined expression on her face, walking so fast she was almost running, until she reached her destination. There, on the door, were inscribed the words '_Teresa Lisbon'_.

She smiled softly to herself, sneaking into the office and checking nobody else was around. She closed the shades with an even wider grin.

Flicking through the paperwork on the agent's desk, pretty soon she came across what she was looking for. It wasn't right on top, but it had been put there recently so was easy to find in the inbox.

_There._ A beige file, 'Chop Shop, Sacramento' written on it in black marker. Scarlett traced the CBI emblem with her finger and then began skimming through the file.

Eventually she found the results of the DNA test. There was also an eyewitness report stating that Zachary Coolidge had been at the scene at the time of the bust. She hadn't been expecting that. According to the case file, the CBI suspected Zachary Coolidge to be the chop shop ringleader, despite his age, and they were planning on calling him back to court as soon as Agent Lisbon had read the file.

Except Agent Lisbon wasn't going to read the file, not if Scarlett had anything to do with it. With a malicious smile and a mental pat-on-the-back at her ingenious plan, she removed the page incriminating Zachary from the file, and moved over to the shredder to dispose of it.

Just as she was feeding the paper into the machine, she heard someone burst into the office behind her.

"Freeze!" yelled Agent Lisbon.

Scarlett glanced around and noticed the gun in the agent's hand. It was probably a good idea to listen, she decided, and then cursed herself for failing Zachary.

As Lisbon led the woman out of her office, handcuffs holding her wrists behind her, Scarlett wailed out for Patrick. She put on her best 'desperate' face and hoped those years at drama college were paying off. But no, he wasn't a fool. She should have realized that when she read up on him.

Jane folded his arms and strolled up to the woman that was definitely _not _his mother. He held back the words he _really _wanted to say to her, the curses and insults and foul phrases, and instead lent her some helpful advice. "I must admit, you did pretty well. But there a few things you ought to improve on next time. Firstly, check for any allergies in the person you're imitating. The real Scarlett is allergic to shellfish, so I wouldn't advise eating crab cakes if you want to pull it off. Secondly, you don't smell right. If you want to try it again, I'd go for a lavender-scented perfume. And thirdly, and most importantly, next time make sure your mark doesn't remember that his mother died when he was three."

She glared at him, but he just drove a smile onto his face, and waved cheerfully.

The moon was full that night, hanging just above the horizon and casting an eerie gray light on Sacramento. Jane closed his eyes, sinking into the bullpen couch. Looked like he'd be sleeping here tonight.

Before he got a chance to unwind, he heard Lisbon approaching.

"Jane, I'm heading home for the night. Everyone else is gone; are you sure you're alright here?"

He nodded without opening his eyes, and was surprised when a weight on the couch by his feet indicated she had sat down. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and sat up.

Lisbon looked at him and spoke softly. "We found out who she was, that woman. Her name's Andrea Coolidge."

"Coolidge?" he echoed thoughtfully, and then smiled. "Told you."

"You did not!" she exclaimed.

He paused. "Well, I thought she might maybe be . . ."

"Zachary Coolidge's aunt?" she finished. "She knew her nephew was running a chop shop, so when he got busted for stealing that car, she stepped in. It would be one year max for the stealing charges, but once we found out he was running that chop shop, his sentence could be bumped up to twenty."

"So she looked into the CBI and . . . Googled me?"

Lisbon shrugged. "I don't know, but somehow she found out that you didn't have a mom, in just a couple of hours. I have to hand it to her, that woman is resourceful."

He rolled his eyes. "She pretended to be my dead mother, Lisbon. I'm not really in the mood to be complimenting her."

Lisbon was silent for a moment, and then leant in and rested her head on Jane's shoulder. "I'm sorry." She hesitated, and then asked, "Your mom . . . You've only just remembered what happened to her, haven't you?"

He nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head on the top of hers.

"You say she was murdered? Because we could get a case going, get that person caught."

Jane said nothing for a minute or two, and then sighed. "It's no use. He's dead."

"Oh."

They stayed like that for a while, Jane slipping his arm over Lisbon's shoulders, but they both knew she had to get home.

Eventually, Lisbon broke contact and stood up.

"Friday tomorrow," she commented quietly. "Nothing ever happens on a Friday."

He nodded, laying back down and closing his eyes. There was silence for a moment, and then he heard Lisbon walking away.

"Night, Jane," she called, and he heard a door close behind her.

"Night, Lisbon," he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah, the end of an era! Finally I can relax and take a few deep breaths before pounding out the next fic! I seriously hope you all enjoyed reading, and I would love for you to review, even if it's just a few words!<strong>

**:D**

**~ Psychedelica ~**


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